The 114th Hunger Games
by katnissdaboss9
Summary: Pretend the rebellion never happened. Pretend Peeta died, and Katniss was the only one who made it out alive. Forty years later, the Games are still being played, so may the odds be ever in your favor for the 114th Hunger Games
1. District 1 Reapings

**Author's Note: I'm going to start with the day of reapings. Tell me if my POV's are shady or unclear, and please, please, PLEASE criticize me! Also, please note that I'm trying to make the names sounds as Hunger Games-ish as possible. Some of them are everyday names, but at least the escorts names will be stupid!**

District 1

 **Brianna Jaxton (1F 16)**

I woke to the smell of pancakes sizzling on the griddle, and Mother calling for me, three floors down. I glanced around the room and then it dawned on me. This is the first day of the rest of my life. This is the day of the reaping. I walk over to my closet where I hung up my reaping clothes. I want to look dazzling when I go to the Capitol, just as my older brother and sister did before me. Volunteers.

I get dressed and glide downstairs, where I reject the pancakes and grab a slice of toast. Then, my entire family, including Theresa, my 2-year old sister, walk together toward the square. Once we are there, I skip towards my best friends, Julietta and Marlana. We start talking about all the things we will do in the Capitol once I'm a Victor. Suddenly, the ceremony starts. Mayor Thompson shows us the video of the Dark Days, and then our escort, Charlenepe, heads over to the girls bowl. "Helena Sompter!" yells Charnelepe. Quickly, I scream, "I volunteer as tribute!" and run up to the stage. Helena looks somewhat disappointed, although she has been training only three years, while I have been waiting my entire life for this. "Alright," pipes Charnelepe, in her silly Capitol accent, "onto the gentlemen!" We all watch as she clicks across the shiny mahogany stage in those ever so high high-heels. Charnelepe elegantly dips her hand into the boys bowl, and I swear every boy in District One holds their breath as she draws it out. "Tristan Carlisle!"

 **Tristan Carlisle: 1M 17**

My day starts to all three of my brothers jumping on my bed. Trevor, Theo, and Tom are all screaming, "Wake up, Tristan! Today's your day!" Trevor, my twin, won the Hunger Games three years ago, and today is the day I'm finally going to volunteer and do the same. Theo is 13, and is already better than me at wielding a spear. Tom is only eight, but one day, he wants to follow in his brothers' footsteps and win the Games. I get up, grab my reaping outfit, and we all trot down the stairs together, talking and laughing like always.

My mother gives me a kiss on the cheek, while my father heartily pats me on the back. " Soon," my father booms in his deep voice, "the Carlisles will have four victors!" My mother and father met at the games while they were mentoring, and have been in love ever since. Everyone gets ready and we all head to District Square. Charnelepe, the weird Capitol lady that escorts the tributes from our districts, is giggling madly at something Mayor Thompson said, and the Victors from the past are all chatting excitedly. I go and wait with the other 17 year-old males, who are all whispering among themselves. Charnelepe walks onto the stage, shows us the extremely boring video of the Dark Days, then clicks over to the giant fishbowl containing all the girls' names. "Helena Sompter!" yells Charnelepe. Then, from across the square, a girl's voice rings out, " I volunteer as tribute!" and she runs up to the stage. "Certainly, dear, now what's your name?" says Charnelepe. "Brianna Jaxton," replies the girl. There is a small silence, then finally Charnelepe clicks over to the boys' fishbowl, and reaches in with her slender hand. "Tristan Carlisle!" I sprint to the stage before anyone could take my place. "Well," Charnelepe, "Here are District One's tributes! Brianna Jaxton and Tristan Carlisle. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"


	2. District 2 Reapings

District 2

Cayenne Partison: **2F 15**

I hate the Games. Always have, always will, I couldn't be swayed in any way, shape, or form. This year is no different. My mother died last year of cancer, and the Games became even worse. We used to laugh and joke about how stupid this all is, but now that's over. My father remarried, to a woman named Evelinia, who has two horrific children that love the Games more than life itself. Bronson is 17, and gearing up to volunteer. Jeaniana is 14, and loathes me. She just loves watching the Games, and could never dream of being the one standing on a pedestal. Today, the day of the reaping, she oddly seems happy to see me, though I could never dream why. "Good morning, Cayenne," she says, trying to stifle a snicker, "Lovely day we're having, isn't it?" I reply in the most annoyingly cheerful voice I can muster, "Well, every day with you could never be better!" She glares at me the entire way through breakfast, but with a glint in her eye. Finally, after breakfast, the Partison-Maywell family jogs to the square, on account of we are slightly late. I get my finger pricked, and then I head to the fourteen year-old girl section, where I find Jeni, my best friend. We make small talk until the ceremony starts. The mayor gives a small speech, and then our Capitol escort, Chrinite, screeches into the microphone, and the loud noise brings tears to my eyes. "Alright, it's time to choose who will be our lucky tributes this year!" She canters (like a horse!) over to the girls bowl. I hold my breath as her semi-chubby hand dips in and out of the fishbowl. She sports a small grin, like she knows something the rest of us don't know. "Cayenne Partison!" I gasp and almost fall over. Weakly, I put foot in front of foot as I shuffle up to the stage. Knowing this will be one of the last memories I have of District 2.

Jeaniana Partison-Maywell:

Ok, so I feel a little guilty for what I did to my step-sister. I paid the escort, Chrinite, an, exceptionally large sum of money to make sure Cayenne was picked for the Games. But, in my defense, Cayenne was such a brat and a show-off. She always brought home good grades, cleaned her room without being asked, and rubbed Dad's feet (ugh) I am a C- student, have a condition I call "organized chaos" and could never go NEAR those hideous things. I'm sorry, Cayenne, but you belong with your useless mom—dead.

Auxonor Halberry: **2M 18**

It's days like this that I hate my siblings. Reaping day. The day where the Halberry family winning streak started, five years ago. All my older siblings have won the Hunger Games, and they have all done it a year after the one before them. First, was my oldest sister, Mayzi. She started the streak in the 109th Hunger Games, then my brother, Brennan, won the 110th. They were followed by Shelden, then Sami, then, last year, Joela. Now it's my turn to bring honor to the family. And if I don't—certain death as I know it. I slide down the massive oak banister on my way to the kitchen, where I grab some Lucky Charms and sprint out the door before my older brothers and sisters bombard me with last minute tips and pointers.

I make it to the square with plenty of time to spare, and while I wait, I mull around the shops near the center. The bakery smells particularly becoming, so I go buy a cookie as good luck. After that, people start to arrive so I head over to my section. I see my best buddy Cartron so we chat idly for a few minutes until Chrinite squeaks, introduces the mayor, who gives a few appropriate remarks, and then hands the floor back over to Chrinite. She squeaks happily, "Now, let's find out our lucky tributes for the 114th Hunger Games!" _Clip clop clip clop_ over to the girls' oversized fishbowl, where she draws out the name," Cayenne Partison!" A weak looking girl emerges from the fifteen year-olds' section, and stumbles onto the stage, her eyes a little puffy. Next, she almost SKIPS over to the second bowl. I see her hand reach in, while her ghastly long nails pick the slip of paper apart. "Charlen Warsaw!" "I volunteer as tribute!" The sentence I just spoke rings through the square, making birds fly off the tops of buildings. There is an eerie silence, but then I trot up to the stage like nothing happened. "My name is Auxonor Halberry, " I whisper. Thank god there is a microphone, or else my statement wouldn't have been audible. "Well," Chrinite pipes up, breaking the silence, "I believe we have our District 2 tributes! Cayenne Partison and Auxonor Halberry! Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor


	3. District 3 Reapings

**Author's Note: If you guys would review my story, that would probably make me update faster. But if you do review, don't review to say "You suck at writing, go hide under a rock and die." I'm looking for constructive criticism, so if you see something you would change or make better, please tell me about it. Thanks! Oh, and also, who's your favorite character so far? I'm a huge Cayenne fan.**

District 3:

 **Blyten Carlenteth: 3F 18**

My dad hates me. My mom hates me. The rest of District 3 doesn't seem to hate me, so why do my parents? "Go die somewhere and leave your mother and I alone," slurs my father, obviously drunk. The day of the reapings. My last reapings. The time I need their support most, and they aren't going to even show up. I'm going to volunteer today, because hopefully, if I win the Games, maybe my parents will love me a little more. I slip out the back door at 3am, wanting to go to Jerod, my best friend's, house before the reaping. I know that's very early, but I need someone to talk to about my plan one last time, and Jerod is always there with open arms.

After I confide in Jerod for almost six hours, it's still only 9am, and the reaping isn't until noon. I head back to the house, where my parents proceed to yell at me for sneaking out at 3:00. I go back to sleep for almost three hours, and by then it's time for the reaping. I throw on some clothes, brush out my hair, and trudge to the square. I hate to think of what's going to happen if I don't win the Games, but I push that thought to the back of my mind as I get my finger pricked. I see Jerod in the eighteen year-old male section, so I smile and wave. He doesn't see me. I sigh and then go to the girl's section. Our escort, Azania, soon starts the program with the snooze-fest they call a video. Then, a deafening screech shoots across the district's square. Azania looks slightly amused but she keeps that to herself. "Well, hello District Three! Happy Hunger Games! Are you ready to find out who your tributes are?" The silence that follows is almost surreal. She looks at us like we're deaf, but shrugs it off anyway. Without wasting time, she makes her way to the first glass bowl, the girls'. As soon as I hear the name "Shem Cartnell!" escape her lips, I scream my last words for all of District Three to hear. "I volunteer as tribute!" The voice is almost unrecognizable, it takes me a second to realize that it's _me_ speaking. I kind of strut to the stage, casually, yet with a power to show the people watching on television, like sponsors,"I am the boss. Don't mess with me."

 **Moulton Withers: 3M 13**

I fear the Hunger Games. I have an extremely large family, with 11 younger siblings under the age of 12. Over the past year, I have taken 346 tesserae for my parents and siblings. My parents don't seem to care, but I try to keep on keeping on. The tesserae is meager, but it does slightly help our situation. I wake later than I usually do on reaping day, at almost 10:00. The reaping is at noon, so I slowly change into my reaping clothes and grab a bite to eat. Then, the Withers family—all 14 of us—somberly head to the square. It's hard for me not to get picked. My name is in the bowl 349 times. I keep to myself as the "festivities" start, while our escort, Azania, moves with such a speed I never thought possible on high heels. After a speech and some more high-pitched squealing, Zany Azania starts to pick the tributes. For the girls, the name drawn is "Shem Cartnell" but a girl, probably six years older than me volunteers. I don't know her reasoning for volunteering, but at least she looks like a survivor. Up next are the boys. I grit my teeth and close my eyes, but, of course, it doesn't work. "Moulton Withers!" I hear my mother gasp, then a thump, which leads me to assume she fainted. I plod through the crowd and to the stage. The girl from earlier is staring at me, analyzing me. Is she considering me for alliances? Probably not, but it can't hurt to wonder. Azania grabs our hands, thrusts them into the air, and yells, "I give you is year's District Three Tributes!"

 **Remember guys! Review, review, review! It makes me happy to know people are reading my work, and it makes me even happier if they review it!**


	4. HELP ME!

Help Me!

You guys that read my stories are the best. But I want you to go further than that. How about you guys create some characters! Fill out the form below in a review, then send it on in. Please don't be disappointed if I don't choose your tribute. I already have some districts, so that may be a reason your tribute is turned down. Keep submitting, who knows? You may have two tributes, or three! So go make these tributes a reality! I believe in you!

First Name:  
Middle Name:  
Last Name:  
Age:  
Gender:

District:

APPEARANCE

Hair Colour:  
Eye Colour:  
Height:  
Weight:  
Build:  
Anything Remarkable?:

HISTORY

Parents:  
Siblings;  
Friends:  
Upbringing:  
Hardships Faced:  
General History:

PERSONALITY

Likes:  
Dislikes:  
Strengths:  
Weaknesses:  
Weapon of Choice:  
Way of Death:

PRE-GAMES

Reaped or Volunteered:  
Reaction (if reaped):  
Why (if volunteered):  
Reaping Outfit:  
Goodbyes:  
Training Strategy:  
Private Training Strategy:  
Interview Strategy:  
Token:

GAMES

Bloodbath?:  
Alliances?:  
Romances?:  
Career?:  
Games Strategy:


	5. District 4 Reapings

District 4

 **Katerina Senhauser: 4F 16**

My little sister is jumping on my bed. Screaming. "Kate, WAKE UP COME ON, NOW!" She realizes today is the reaping. It takes me a second, but then so do I. Here in District Four, a Reaping day is seldom a somber occasion. But this could be the last couple hours with my sister, so I get up and and jump on the bed with her. I trip on my comforter and tumble off the bed, with Georgia tumbling after. We run down the stairs and out the door in our PJ's, since it's still fairly early, no one is out. We wrestle on the grass for a while, then go back inside to start prepping for the Reaping.

At 11:30, Georgia, Jack, James, Mom, Dad, and I head to the square. Georgia is only nine, so she isn't in danger of being reaped yet. James just turned 13, so he is in the bowl twice. Jack, my twin, is 16, just like me. He's going to wait two more years until volunteering, so he will have the upper hand in age. We each take our places. Me, to the 16 year-old girls section, Jack, to the 16 year-old boys section, and James to the 13 year-old boys section. Our escort, Chronor, takes his place on the stage. Chronor is an interesting fellow. He's one of the only male escorts in all of Panem. He's not self-absorbed like the rest of the Capitolites. He's also new this year. This leads me to like him. "Well, hello District Four!" Chronor exclaims. His cheery voice is met with a resounding roar from the crowd. "Are we ready to find out the tributes for the 114th Hunger Games?" Another deafening cheer from the crowd."Well, let's get on with it!"

"The female tribute representing District 4 this year shall be...Ari Fischer!"

"I volunteer as tribute!" I holler at the top of my lungs, fighting my way through the crowd of 16-year old girls up to the stage. Tyron's eyes sparkle like diamonds up close. "Well, who do we have here?" he asks. "A future victor," I respond. "Well, then, what's this future victor's name?"

Tyron asks aloud. "Katerina Senhauser. Don't forget it." I hope I sound serious. I'll need to be for these Games.

Trident Connolly: 4M 17

Reaping days are the worst. People always think, "Oh, but you're so big and strong! You'd be a victor for sure. My parents were victors in back-to-back years. They dated before the Games, and it just seemed right to them to continue afterward. Today I'm being forced into the Games. Why do we call them that? This is no game...

My parents are chipper and bright as I plod down the stairs. How can their minds hold so many dark secrets and memories that they killed people, and yet be so content? It puzzles me, but I don't bother asking. I couldn't be more angry right now. Angry at them, angry at my district, angry at this whole dang country! I studied a language that had been dead for thousands of years. Panem means bread, and that couldn't be farther of from the truth. Being from District 4 and having two victors as parents, I've never been hungry. But many people are. Suddenly, I shake my head. " _Augh... I'm doing it again!_ " I think. I ramble when I'm nervous.

We make our way to the square, where I go to the check-in table, same old prick of the needle taking my blood, same old Peacekeepers ushering me to my section. The anthem of Panem plays, while Tyron, our escort, makes his way to the podium. He gives a short speech, which arouse the already estacstic crowd. The female tribute called is Ari Fischer, but who is soon replaced by a typical career, Katerina Senhauser. Then, Tyron speaks into his mike, "Now for our lucky male tribute!" He glides over to the fishbowl that could hold 10 trout easily, and grabs a paper from the very bottom. "Trent Collins!" Tyron exclaims. Being the ever-so-dutiful son, Iraise my hand, and scream, "I volunteer as tribute!"

 **A/N: It's been forever since I updated the actual story! Sorry! Really busy summer. Ironically, I'll probably write more when school starts, since I use Google Docs on my school iPad. Plus, I have a lot more free time at school, since I'm going to middle school. Woohoo!**

 **To answer your question MissCarrie14, I will do every district. It's taken forever since I've been lazy. Sorry about that.**

 **Thank you everyone for reading! Keep doing what you're doing! And don't forget to review!**


	6. District 5 Reapings

District 5

 **Avalon Chestam: 5F 18**

Birds chirping, sun shining, the makes of a great day.

Right?

Wrong.

It's reaping day.

I get dressed, head down the dirt floored hall, and plod into the kitchen/living room/dining room. I tousle my little brother Jet's hair, while pouring some water into a glass. No milk, no OJ. We're the least fortunate family of District 5. Which is why I'm going to volunteer. Maybe I can change that.

Jet jumps up, and gives me a bear hug. He's eleven, so no reaping for him. My dad has raised us since I was three, and my mother divorced him. She lives with the wealthiest man of the district. Ironic, isn't it?

We drink our water and eat our stale bread, then put on some presentable clothes and head to town. Mayor Patton, Taja, and our two mentor sit on the stage. Finally, Taja stands. She's an odd one. She doesn't enjoy Capitol fashion, or makeup, or fancy food. I think she's originally from District 5, because she dresses very much alike us, and has our slight twang in her voice. "Welcome, to the 114th Annual Hunger Games! Let's choose our female victo—I mean tribute— from the bowl, shall we? Hand in, hand out, paper unfolded. "Kiki Rexpon!" pipes Taja. " I volunteer as tribute!" I hear someone say. Then I realize that someone is me.

 **Harris Pythus: 5M 12**

I'm small. So very small. I feel even smaller. It's my first reaping and although I have one slip of paper in, I'm still scared. _"Relax, Harris. You have nothing to worry about_!" My head chimes in. I still don't believe it. I put on my reaping outfit, and run to my treehouse in the backyard. I'm the only kid in town with one, and I always feel lucky to have it. But today I'm just sad. "This may be the last time ever I sit up here. This may be the last time I climb this rope ladder," I say aloud. All the memories come flooding back to me. I was eight when I fell off the ladder and broke my arm. I was ten when I first had a sleepover in here. The nostalgia is getting me, so I slide down the firemen's pole, run across the grass, and back into the house.

It's 2 o'clock. I'm in the square. This isn't real. No. No. No.

 _1 minute before_

"And for the boy's, we have Harris Pythus!" No. Not now. I'll be the youngest kid there. I'll die. It slowly dawns on me. I'll die. I'll die. " No! I can't go! Noooooo! I'll die! I'll die! Help me, I'll die in there!" I scream, slowly starting to sob. Like a faucet. Slowly at first, then faster, and faster, until tears are gushing out of my eyes like the fire hydrant in front of my house neighborhood kids wrench off during the summer. I accept my fate, then trudge up to the stage. My first step toward death.

 **Alright! Two chapters in one day! Sorry it's a short one. I'm so far behind on this story, I'm just trying to get some districts done. Go check out my forum, and don't forget to submit a tribute! Thanks for reading! Keep doing what you're doing, and don't forget to review!**


	7. District 6 Reapings

**I'm an awful person. I never update, even though people have submitted REALLY awesome tributes. I'm trying to update more frequently now. Please submit some characters, and thanks to the people who already have. You guys know who you are, and you're awesome. And remember: REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW! Please and thank you!**

 **District 6**

 **Treble DiBlanco: 6F 15**

I don't really fit well with a nation whose main sport is watching children murder each other on live television. Call me crazy, but that isn't exactly the most enjoyable thing in the world.

I like music.

All kinds of music. Rock. Punk. Pop. Country. You name it, I like it, and chances are I've written a song in that genre too.

I wake up to my alarm clock (a luxury considering that most of District Six cannot afford one) playing Ho Hey, a song by a Pre-Panem band by the Lumineers. I hum along as I brush my teeth, then start muttering along to the words while I dress in my reaping clothes

 _In my sweet heart,_

 _I belong with you, you belong with me_

 _In my sweet heart_

Atop my dresser lies my prized possession, a sterling silver chain with a music note adorning the front. It's quite a simple piece of jewelry, but it's mine, and it symbolizes me, so I love it.

I have a little while before I have to be in the square, so I plop down on the piano bench and start a slow, meaningful melody.

 _All of me_

 _Loves all of you_

 _Love your curves and all your edges_

 _Love your perfect imperfections_

I sense someone has entered the room, but I keep playing, because I can tell it's my brother Harp. My parents loved music, too, so they named their children after parts of it. I return to my soft singing.

 _Give your all to me_

 _I'll give my all to you_

 _You're my end and my beginning_

 _Even when I lose I'm winning_

I hear Harp start to clap. He doesn't play piano, but instead his namesake. Listening to him play the harp is like listening to golden birds sing. We both enjoy listening to each other, and sometimes we play together. That's just the way our family functions.

"Treble, come on, we'll be late for the reaping!" exclaims Harp.

I know he's not scared. It's Harp's last year to be reaped. After that he will be free to live his life in the District.

We head down to the town square, with our parents in tow. Finger pricked, I.D. checked, then off to our different sections. The escort, named Eboni, steps on to the ,stage. She is dark-skinned, and seems to have a Southern district drawl, so she must be from District 11. I've never really seen anyone from the outlying districts. I'm intrigued. I don't have much time to wonder as Eboni interrupts my thoughts with the first picked name. It's a girls name. Slowly picking apart the piece of paper, she readies the microphone for the name,

"Treble DiBlanco," Eboni calls.

 **Channing Foxwell: 6M 17**

The girl who's name was just called doesn't stand a chance. She looks well fed, healthy, yet weak. My bet is she has a different talent, but not one that can help her now.

I'm Channing Foxwell. There isn't much to tell about me. I'm 17 years old. My parents died in a car accident last year, and I live with my older brother, Noble, who's 22. I'm a Type 1 Diabetic, and that means my pancreas doesn't work and produce something called insulin, which helps our bodies break down carbohydrates. I wear an insulin pump, which provides me with the insulin I need. All in all, it's not ideal, but it could always be worse.

Right now I'm standing in the 17 year-old boys' section, in the middle of the District 6 Town Square, watching a weak little 15 year old get dragged to the stage, then literally dumped next to Eboni, who looks on. "Now for the boys," Eboni calls in a strict, no-nonsense voice. In reality, the business voice is better than the usual peppy voices of escorts. Hand in the bowl, hand out, paper unfolded, name called.

It's me. I drop to my knees screaming, and I can hear a deep male voice, probably Noble, begging someone to volunteer, anyone, ANYONE, please, please. "Noble!" I scream out as loud as I can. "Please," I beg the Peacekeepers, "just let me say something to my brother quickly." I head over to the rope where my brother is standing, tears streaming down his face. "Noble," I start, "I am going to do my best here, and I am going to come home. For you. You hear me, bro?" Sniffling, Noble nods his head, and gives me a quick hug. Then, all of a sudden, the Peacekeepers drag me off with Noble screaming in the background. I stand tall on the stage, trying to look strong.

I _will_ come home.

 **Alright! I really like these tributes. Treble was really fun to write. Tell me what you like, what you don't, submit some tributes, so whatever! Review! Please and thank you!**

 **P.S. REVIEW ME PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!**


	8. District 7 Reapings

District 7:

 **Toni-Mari Bryan: 7F 15**

My morning starts abruptly at 3:00 am, when my eyes flutter open to see Papa tousling my hair.

"Hiya kiddo. Wanna hit the forest before the reaping?" he says mischievously. I groan and grunt out, "At three am? Sure, why not?"

By 3:15, we are in the woods, battling with blunt axes. Papa says it's to train me if I ever get reaped, but personally I think he enjoys the sheer fun of it. I block his blade with the hilt of my axe, when out of nowhere, there is a swift kick to my side. I fall, starting to gain speed as I tumble down a hill. "I'll get you for this, Papa!" All I hear is a chuckle in response.

After five hours in the woods, I head back home to bathe and change for the reaping. Tucking in my blouse as I stumble out the door, I hear Papa call, "wait for me! Hearing that reminds me of my mother, a gentle woman, taken from us by the Capitol. We found her body in the woods behind our house. It still haunts my nightmares.

Nymphadora, our escort, is not a sight for sore eyes. However, I think she creates these sore eyes, with her neon pink outfit that is currently blinding me. Please make it stop, I whisper to myself. "Well, who's excited to be here today? I certainly am!" Nymphadora pips. "Who's going to be our new victor? We can find out!" Same old, same old, hand in the fishbowl. The name that escapes Nymphadora's lips will haunt my mind forever.

"Toni-Marie Bryan!"

 **Mahogany Terrace 7M 15**

Coincidences are funny things. When you least expect it, you're pleasantly surprised, and when you're expecting it, when you really need it most, you get nothing. Today is one of those examples. Trotting down the stairs, expecting to find some stale toast with butter, when I get hit head on by the wonderful aroma that is pancakes and syrup. I question my mom softly, because I don't want my food taken away, "Mom, where did you get the money for this? It's at least two months pay. "Maho, I saved the money for a long time. This is an every once-in-a-while luxury, but now is better then later." she speaks with authority. Dad plods into the kitchen, clearly smelling something wonderful, when he stops in his tracks and asks, "How much did this cost?" He's getting angry, but dad is always angry. They step outside for a moment where it seems like I hear an explosion that is my dad. Ouch.

Walking to the square on a beautiful summer day. And I mean BEAUTIFUL. It's a shame that it's going to be ruined for two families, crying over the loss of their child. Getting my finger pricked is no biggie, but I still hate it. My friend Oak and I stand in the 15 year-old boys section, talking eagerly about tributes for this year. Finally, Nymphadora stands up, looking ready to jump for joy in those 12-inch platform heels. The same speech as usual, blah blah blah, when the girls name is finally read.

"Toni-Marie Bryan!"

Phew. No one I know. I cross my fingers, hoping no one I know is picked next.

I don't have any more luck or coincidences left, it seems.

Because Mahogany Terrace is the name that gets called.


End file.
